Green Is the Color of Venom
by Vampsi
Summary: Finding himself alone and isolated in the YJ cave headquarters, Superboy begins to get a bad feeling...only to find out that his bad feeling is more than just a bad feeling. Its a total nightmare.


Green Is the Color of Venom

By: Vampira Maxwell

Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice or any of the characters involved. I am not making any type of profit or gain from this in any way. This is purely for entertainment.

Beta'd by: XXXMystery

Sometimes the heightened sense of smell that all Kryptonians had, even ones like Superboy who were merely acceptable copies of the real thing, could be a problem. And, at the moment, Conner was wondering if perhaps...just maybe...he was malfunctioning.

He still saw himself as a weapon, a tool, and even though he hated it when others referred to him that way it wasn't due to indignation. It was more due to the fact that he hated to be reminded that that was exactly what everyone else thought of him, too, deep down. So, why not speak of himself, at least in his mind where nobody could hear - except Megan...but she stayed out these days unless it was an emergency or a mission - like the machine that he was?

Today, he was smelling things that apparently weren't there. He could smell blood. Lots of blood. As if someone had mopped the rooms in it. But, nobody was here and there was no blood. Not even Megan was here. And she was usually always here if he was. Maybe her uncle had come by to get her and spend the day or something?

And Red Tornado was gone, too...but that could be a mission. He left periodically, sometimes without even telling them he was going to be gone, if he had a mission.

And the others were gone, too, but they all had homes. Robin was probably with Batman. It made him a little sad, because he had been hoping to spend a little time with Robin. He liked the boy; he could always count on him to be honest with him. If he was making a fool of himself, Robin would let him know. Sometimes in the form of pointing and laughing, and that embarrassed and angered him, but it was honest. If he was wrong, Robin would tell him. If he needed to talk, Robin would listen. If he needed to talk but wouldn't, Robin would prod him into it.

The others...they were like the rest of the League. They just kind of pretended he didn't have feelings other than anger. If they thought someone or something was going to piss him off then they tried to intercept that before it happened. Telling someone they were taking things too far, telling someone simply to just shut up, giving them looks that they don't think I notice, whispers they forget I can hear, jabs with their elbows.

The League was mostly okay, they were just like the rest of his own team but they were okay. Except Superman. Superman obviously hated him for something he didn't ask for and could not help or change. He shouldn't be here. He wasn't good enough. He was a machine, a weapon, not to be trusted, a loose cannon that couldn't control himself. He couldn't be trusted, what if he went off one day and killed everyone before anyone could stop him? What if he was programmed to do it and nobody, even himself, was aware of it?

As he walked through the corridors, he was struck just by how it felt to be here when he was completely and utterly alone. The place was so huge, so empty, and it echoed a little. It was also pretty dark. Why was it so dark?

It was beginning to remind him a little bit of Cadmus. He shuddered and folded his arms across his chest in a protective gesture that most people took as defiant.

But that was when everything changed and suddenly there was light, bright and almost blinding even to his eyes, and he had to turn his head a little in surprise, squint and try to look past it. But, once he did, he wished he hadn't. He wanted to turn and run, but for some reason he couldn't make his body move.

"There he is. Just where the League said he'd be. I knew they'd want to give him back eventually." said a familiar voice.

Superboy took a step back. How could this be? That voice belonged to Desmond! The mad scientist from Project Kr. But, he'd turned himself into a monster! The Justice League took him away. Right? He saw it!

"Oh, come now, what's with that look? What have I told you about thinking? You're a weapon, not a boy. The Justice League has seen that, they're tired of babysitting you." the man sneered and adjusted his glasses before pointing at Superboy and giving the order to seize him.

The thugs were dressed in white armor, mostly covered and with helmets that had black visors that prevented him from seeing their faces as they cautiously advanced toward him, holding some sort of gun-like weapons, each having a genome on their shoulder. These thugs were followed by larger, grotesque genomorphs that towered over all the other beings here.

Conner tried to turn, tried to run, but he just could not move! Why? What was going on?

"Don't be so scared of him, I've frozen him still. He can't move unless I say so." Desmond growled to the men who were a little afraid of Superboy's abilities. But, after hearing that they no longer hesitated.

Conner felt himself lifted up and carried toward the nearest exit. He was terrified and for the first time he felt like he wanted to cry. He knew he wasn't going to be saved this time and worse...he couldn't even save himself, either.

"We'll begin the dismantling when we get to the lab." Desmond was saying into some sort of hand-held communicator. "He's a failed project, we'll scrap him and start over." then he put the device into his pocket, smirked at Superboy, and followed them all out.

:-:-:-:

"He's thrashing!" Clark called out, going over to try to stop the boy he refused to think of as his son before he hurt something or someone...or possibly himself.

"Then we'll up the dosage." Bruce said, in his usual stoic calm, going over to adjust it himself.

"We've already given him enough to drop an elephant...if that didn't work, what will?" Barry asked, looking over the charts.

"He's Kryptonian. Enough to drop an elephant wouldn't even give Clark a buzz." Bruce commented, sardonically.

"Excuse me, can we cut the jokes? This is serious! I've never reacted to Kryptonite poisoning this way and neither has Kara! What's going on?" Clark could not believe they were joking at a time like this!

"Conner is a clone of you. There are bound to be some...anomalies." Bruce said.

"Anomalies?" Clark glared at Bruce as the boy in his arms calmed.

"Clark, I know this looks bad and I know it's painful to watch, but this isn't going to be life threatening for him." Bruce said.

"This time." Clark growled.

"This time." Bruce agreed.

"J'onn, do you think you can try again to see what's going on in his head? Maybe you can keep him from doing that again." Barry suggested, wanting to stop the bickering. Usually, it was fun to watch but not at this moment.

"I can make another attempt." J'onn answered and went over to the bed where Superboy lay, looking down at him and allowing his consciousness to seep into the boy's.

He'd been afraid to push too hard the last time, but considering the near-epileptic seizure the boy had just had it was probably necessary to try to ensure it did not happen again.

Clark was worried at the amount of time it took, but finally J'onn looked away.

"I cannot get through to him. But, I could see what he was thinking. He's having a nightmare."

"A nightmare?" Clark frowned. "About what?" he looked down at Conner again, worriedly.

"Isn't this a little late to be so concerned about his well-being?" Bruce commented.

"Not now, Bruce." Clark glared.

Bruce didn't reply. He'd made his point.

"In the dream, we've turned him over to Cadmus and they're..." even J'onn shuddered just a little at the thought.

"They're what?" Clark demanded.

"Dismantling him. It's not...a pretty process from what I was able to see."

"Ew..." Barry shuddered and made a face.

Clark frowned and pet Conner's hair a little. "How do we stop it?"

"We don't." Bruce said. "J'onn couldn't get through to him, he could only observe."

"There has to be some way!" Clark glared, why was Bruce always so damned pessimistic?

"Yeah, come on, Bruce. I mean, you can't just let the kid have a dream like that...its brutal!" Barry exclaimed.

Bruce sighed. "Then talk to him. Rather than talking to each other about him, take turns talking to him. I can't guarantee he'll hear anything, or that it'll change anything if he does, but there's a chance it might."

:-:-:-:

Conner had been forced to stop thrashing. At one point, he'd managed to gain control of his body again and he had almost fought them off, almost...not that he had any hope of getting out again if he did, or anywhere to go if he did get out. But, then his body had been rendered stiff as a board again. And the dismantling process was continuing.

And, oh how it hurt! He'd never felt anything so painful in his life. Those devices they were running along his skin, along each major vein and artery, were excruciating. There was no cutting, no...it was a partially manual way for them to activate the breakdown sequence. His body would break itself down, melt from the inside, much like the fly in the spider's web that has already had the bite administered and the venom injected to make it soup for the spider to draw in.

And when that process began in earnest...he was even unable to scream, his body was so controlled by whatever mechanism was keeping him still. Why wasn't that breaking down too? They couldn't afford him even a little dignity in this? But, no, of course not. Why would they? He wasn't a person to them. He was a machine, a weapon.

Tears slipped down his cheeks. The only things that did not seem to be unusable were apparently his tear ducts.

:-:-:-:

"He's crying..." Clark murmured.

"What?" Bruce asked, turning to look as well.

Sure enough, there were tears slipping down Conner's otherwise calm face.

"Poor kid..." Barry said with a frown.

"Superboy...please...listen to me...you're alright, nothing's hurting you...we won't let anyone dismantle you..." Clark tried, but it made no difference. Not a twitch, not a sound, and no ebb to the slow but steady stream of wet that slid down the boy's cheeks.

The door burst open at that moment, startling Barry into dropping the clipboard he'd been reanalyzing. "Hey!" he frowned.

"Conner!" Dick cried out as he ran over to the bed.

"You're supposed to be resting." Bruce admonished.

"I heard Conner was still in really bad shape! What's wrong with him, why's he crying?"

"Conner has Kryptonite poisoning and it's effecting him in an unexpected way." Bruce answered. "We're trying to keep him calm while we purge it from his system, but teammates running and screaming around his room really isn't going to help."

"But, why is he crying?" Dick demanded again.

Clark sighed. "He's having a nightmare. We can't calm his brain down enough to stop it...and J'onn can't get through to him."

"Have you tried talking to him?" Dick asked, glaring at Clark in a way that, if he didn't know any better, Clark would have thought was accusatory.

"Of course, but Superboy apparently can't hear..."

"Conner...come on, listen to me, you're okay...we're all here with you and everything's okay...You have to fight this, Conner..." Dick said to the boy in a calm, soothing manner, petting his hair and his face lightly.

:-:-:-:

Through the pain, the tears, and the fear something penetrated Conner's consciousness. At first it was soft, but then it was a little louder. Someone calling him by name. Not his code name, but the real name he'd been given by friends. It took him a few seconds to recognize the reassuring tones of Robin's voice. And just the sound of it calmed him enough to help him stop crying. And with that, he also noticed some of the pain ebb.

But where was he? If he could hear Robin he had to be here, didn't he? And what exactly was he saying? Something about fighting? What did Robin want him to...

That was when it came back to him. The battle, getting shot with a bullet he didn't bother to dodge only to find out it was laced in green K. He'd never been near Kryptonite of any sort before, although he knew what it was and what it could do.

If it was true what he was remembering, then this was all just a construct of his mind. Was it that simple? The pain, the fear, the strange happenings...these were all just a figment of his imagination? A dream?

As he figured these things out, he was able to calm himself more, the scenes before him, horrific as they were, faded. Cadmus was gone. Desmond and his minions were gone. Even the pain, the fear...the panic was gone. He was alright. He was probably sick, but he would be alright. He could hear Robin saying so...he could swear it...

Was it really him? Or was he dreaming Robin's voice, too? But, no it sounded real...And he felt a warmth he wasn't used to feeling, something comforting and nice...something that allowed him to slip into real sleep.

:-:-:-:

"He's stopped crying..." Clark said, surprised. He had spoken to the boy and it hadn't made a difference...why?

"Hey, yeah, and look at the monitors...his vitals are back to normal...Well...as normal as they can be for a sick alien..." Barry said.

Clark got up and went over to Bruce, who was monitoring the dosage again.

"Why was it effective when he spoke to Conner when it did nothing at all when I spoke?" Clark asked, in a hushed tone.

"It might not have done anything when either of you spoke, it's possible the medicine is working properly now." Bruce said. "But, if it did make a difference...maybe it would have happened sooner, when you were speaking to him, if you hadn't worked so hard all this time to make an enemy out of your own son."

"He's not my son..." Clark hissed, defensively.

"Don't worry, Clark. He knows." Bruce replied.

It was such a straightforward thing to say, but at the same time it seemed sarcastic and cryptic to Clark. He frowned and turned to look at Conner.

"Sometimes, you don't get forever to make up your mind." Bruce volunteered, before leaving to go check on some of the others who were injured, letting that sink into Clark's mind.

Dick was still by Conner's bed and petting his hair and face softly, since it seemed to help.

"Robin..." came the very soft, barely-there whisper.

One that only two people in the room heard. It made one smile and the other frown worriedly at the possibility of an opportunity missed before he'd been ready to acknowledge it.


End file.
